I haven't said much about life in general- the lockdown on revealing diddly squat on Facebook has apparently extended to this forum. Likely a safer option. But things have been ... interesting. I still have a job. In fact, more secure than ever. But it is stressful.

In the last month and a half I have:
-put together a series of roundtable events across the country for about 150 participants
-put together a meeting that included our company CEO and CFO (yes, I met them. Yes it is very glamorous).
-put together a team offsite in Chicago for 30 people
-put together another team offsite here for about 40.

Overall, it resembles being a wedding planner. Something that I had absolutely no aspiration towards becoming. And still don't. So the hunt begins. I started today. We'll see where THAT goes.

I was thinking about influence. And aging. How things that didn't seem to matter at the time can have repercussions decades later. And how things that were perceived in one way look totally different later. This was all in the context of thinking about songs. Songs that meant something to me, and still do.

The first adult song that I remember being important was "Age of Aquarius." Yes, I was under the age of 5. But it still makes me smile to hear that song. I'll explain.

I remember a sunny summer day. It is morning, and the sun is shining. Dad has the top down on the convertible, and we are driving to Grandma and Grandpa's house. I presume I am going to spend the day there. The radio is on. We are at a light, I think that it is the one by the old National Guard armory on Euclid Avenue. That's how I remember it, at least.

The song is playing, and my hair is whirling in the wind, as I slide around the white patent shelf seat in the car. I am singing along to the radio at the top of my lungs. I only know the chorus, but I remember the feeling. I remember the day. It has been decades, and that day still matters. Later life would take some of the wind out of me, and I have never recaptured the ability to sing in public with quite that freedom, but I remember that day.

I still don't know the words to the song besides the chorus, and sure as hell can't hit the high notes, but it is the song of the 1960's for me.

I've been re-reading books that I loved when I was very young. I am looking for where my writing sensibilities came from. So far there have been some dreadful books that I couldn't finish. There have been a couple that were fun. Overall, though- apparently I naturally gravitated towards feminist writers. Who'da thunk.

On that theme- I'm growing increasingly irritated by the folgers coffee commercial with the woman who runs into her father and they discuss her proposal. It annoys the hell out of me that the boyfriend already talked with the father in that archaic permission thing. I would break up with a man who spoke with my father before asking me to marry him. I am not and never have been my father's property to give away. I cannot express how much I hate, hate, hate that whole idea. Well, I can express it. I just did.

So let's get this straight. Traditionally subverting healthy sexual appetites and functions, with the expectation that God will make that ok- check. Throwing the men with the allegedly suppressed appetites into positions of absolute authority- check. Ignoring signs of problems and covering up molestation when it happens- check. Incriminating records indicating that the corruption spreads to the highest authorities in the church- check.

So where in the FUCK is the proof that the church keeps whining about that this is some kind of fraudulent attempt to besmirch a blameless Catholic church? Right. Nice try, boys. I don't think anyone outside of zealotdom buys it though. So shove those shiny PR happy commercials that you are blasting the airwaves with "inviting" me to revisit my lapsed faith up your sanctimonious, lying asses. Fuckers.